


the scent of the rain

by lesliesbknope



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesliesbknope/pseuds/lesliesbknope
Summary: Their daughter is born into her father’s arms screaming angrily at being disturbed, on the first rainy, thunderous summer afternoon in Storybrooke in nearly three months.





	the scent of the rain

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i don’t typically venture into this part of the fandom (THE FIC WRITING PART) bc i’m intimidated as hell, but at aol build jmo essentially said generally you’re surrounded by people just trying to do their best, so this is my version of me trying to do my best, just like all of you. (essentially, I have no idea what it is, i just overuse ellipseses and parentheses)
> 
> thanks to the cool kids putting #keepingupwiththejoneses together. this is a really awesome thing you’re all doing. this is for the petrichor prompt (a week late because this is my life)
> 
> anyway, enjoy! leave some comments, reblog, share with your grandma... etc. AND THANK YOU IN ADVANCE.

There’s a dry heatwave coursing through the town when it happens, and for once in probably all the recent history of Storybrooke, the misery had less to do with magic and curses, and more to do with Mother Nature herself.

So when the sky darkens, and thunder and lightning begin to make their presence known in the skies, Killian knows something’s up.

He’s just about ready to call his father-in-law from his patrol, his wife long since on leave since reaching the ninth month of her pregnancy.

(At her own insistence, of course.)

(“Nothing happens in Storybrooke anymore!” she argued during month five, even though an ill-timed visit from a long-since vanquished villain disputes her argument. “I’m staying, Killian. That’s final.”

And it is for the most part. She wins. She always does. And he breathes easy when they walk through the front door of the house he loves so much.

She apologizes for her anger, kisses both his cheeks and then his lips, and drags him upstairs to their room where she reassures him she’s okay.

He understands. He does.

He just worries. She’s been through this before with Henry, so she knows her way, but, well, he hasn’t. Watching his mother-in-law and Belle face pregnancy under the circumstances in which they did aren’t exactly a lesson in full, nine-month childbearing without any villainous interruptions. Save for the one.

And he’s still learning to not hover, to just love and pamper his pregnant wife, and trust that most of the time she’s okay. Just pregnant. And headstrong. Very much so.)

But before he can call David to ask if something’s gone awry near his patrol on the town line, his phone rings, his mother-in-law calmly letting him know that Emma is in labor, and she’s so far along they won’t make it to the hospital.

* * *

He’s probably never driven faster since he learned to drive with the prosthetic adapted to the steering wheel of the bug for his hook, shooting down Main Street with the siren on for good measure.

He’s not sure if he parks the car right, but by the time he makes it to the blue house on the corner, the sky is quite literally pouring waterfalls worth of rain, angry thunder and lightning coating the once dry and clear skies of Storybrooke.

It’s a relief after the drought, but he’s too worried to even think about that, too focused on Emma and their child who’s hell-bent on arriving today. So hell-bent, in fact, she won’t let her mother get to the hospital.

Her mother’s child,  _of_ _course_ _._

“Swan!” he calls loudly as he bursts through the door, hoping to find her, or her mother, or anyone. “Emma, where are you?!”

“I’m here!” she calls from the living room, and she hasn’t sounded this breathless in so long, and maybe it only sounds worse because of the way his heart clenches in his chest. “I’m right here, Killian!”

She’s lying on the floor, propped up by her mother behind her as Snow holds her hands and presses soft kisses to her head, whispering words of comfort and encouragement.

(Later, he’ll think about how it’s another moment she and Emma get to share, after their missed moment for Henry’s birth, and how it’s another piece to the never-ending puzzle that is the rebuilding of their relationship.)

“Hi,” Emma half whispers mid-exhale, a soft smile forming despite the sweat coating her skin, her face red and strained.

And in a lot of ways, she’s never looked more beautiful.

In his haste to get to her, he leaves the door open, dropping at her side. “Hi,” he says, feeling a knot form in his throat, as his eyes well.

“I’m fine,” she says before anything else. “Really, she’s just… early.”

He leans in to kiss her, lingering for a long moment, fear and relief all in one. “I thought you said they were practice contractions,” he murmurs, their conversation this morning at the breakfast table coming to the forefront.

“That’s what I thought, too,” she explains as he pulls away. "Then my water broke.” She grits her teeth, giving her mother’s hands a squeeze. “Mom…”

“I know, baby, I know,” Snow comforts, looking up to Killian. “Just breathe, come on. In through your nose, out through your mouth…”

“What can I do?” he asks, looking between them. “Why can’t we get her to the hospital? Who can we…”

"I called Whale,” his mother-in-law interrupts. “But he’s in a surgery, and Doc is out of town with Sleepy and Bashful.”

“Why is there only one doctor in this town at this point?!” Killian hisses as Emma breathes through her contraction, his hand finding her raised knee and giving her a squeeze.

For all the time of peace they’ve had since defeating the Black Fairy, for all the  _free_ _time_  in Storybrooke, one would think some new doctors would have come through…

“You’re gonna have to do it, babe,” Emma tells him a long beat later, eyes fluttered shut as her contraction finally passes.

“What?!”

“I’m not letting my mom go,” she says softly, just a girl who needs her mother in that moment. “You… you can do it, you can deliver her just...”

He’s floored at that, eyes wide, and he’s followed Emma through time portals, just like she’s followed him through hell, he’ll back her play at every turn, but this… this feels insane. He has one hand, he’s never delivered a baby, he’s barely been around one that isn’t Neal or Gideon… and even then...

“One hand, two arms,” Snow interrupts, as if reading his mind. “And you love her. You love them both. You’ll keep them safe. Go wash your hand and clean your hook…”

* * *

  


Their daughter is born into her father’s arms screaming angrily at being disturbed, on the first rainy, thunderous summer afternoon in Storybrooke in nearly three months. It was rain and thunder and lightning that had less to do with the weather and more to do with her mother’s magic.

(Emma later tells him that in retrospect, this whole magic thing had been right under her nose the whole time because the same thing had happened when Henry was born)

And she’s beautiful and rosy and blonde and loud and perfect, and Killian’s felt true love before—from Liam, and Emma, and Henry—more love than he’s deserved or known what to do with, but this? This is beyond another realm of love. This is beyond anything he’s ever known.

“Emma…” he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks, eyes glued to the little girl in his arms, and Emma smiles at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Gods… Hello, you.”

This is his heart bursting and breaking and coming together all over again in the form of the tiny babe in the crook of his arm. And she’s his. And Emma’s.

And she’s perfect.

Her anger seems to dissipate at the sound of his voice, a calmness washing over all of them.

And the skies apparently, for a moment later, the rain stops. And there’s only the scent of the rain spilling through the still open door.

He presses the softest kiss he can manage to her forehead before he’s leaning forward to place her on Emma’s chest.

Her arms come to wrap around their tiny piece of heaven, whispered words of love escaping her lips as she shushes her and kisses her head. “Hi,” she says, cradling her, settling back into her mother’s arms behind her.

“She’s so beautiful…” Snow kisses Emma’s head again in the same fashion. “I’m so proud of you,” she sniffles, looking to Killian. “You, too, Papa,” she grins, and his heart shatters all over again.

 _Papa_ _._ He's a father.

(Henry is just as much his child as his daughter is, and in this moment, he misses him more than he has the entire time since they left him in that alternate version of the Enchanted Forest.

But he’s never been a part of it from the beginning. He’s never had to learn to grapple with the bursting feelings coming over him right now)

Snow nods him over to take her place behind Emma. He supports them both against his chest, feeling his whole life wrapped in his arms.

It feels like home.

“We did it,” Emma whispers, her eyes heavy as she glances down at their daughter, now wrapped in blankets and love. “She’s here.”

He inhales sharply, crisp air filling his nostrils. “She’s here, love,” he nods.


End file.
